


Return of the Kid

by naps4bats



Series: Beomfleet [2]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Grief, Homophobia, Humour?, I tried to write a fun story, Illness, Military, Misogyny, Modern AU, Prison, Sex, Swearing, but it went all sad, parental loss, sooo oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naps4bats/pseuds/naps4bats
Summary: This is a kind of prologue to Rushing Water. Erik gets out of prison and Sigefrid gets him involved in the militia that will eventually take Beomfleet.
Relationships: Erik Thurgilson & Sigefrid Thurgilson, Sigefrid Thurgilson/Original Character(s)
Series: Beomfleet [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155278
Comments: 33
Kudos: 2
Collections: I would like that: A Sigefrid Collection





	1. Twelve Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by MissGuided12's amazing Sigefrid stories, I wanted to try and write something from Sigefrid's point of view. I thought it would be funny! It is not. Maybe it is at some points, but there is a lot of sadness there, so...be prepared. 
> 
> Content warning for parental death and grief. Also, misogyny and violence, but what else would you expect from our favourite dirtbag brother viking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigefrid picks Erik up from prison, where he's been serving a sentence for some shit Sig got him into. Erik needs some time to adjust to outside life, but Sigefrid is in a bit of a rush.

Sigefrid pulled up to the prison around four. He meant to be there earlier, but there’d been this incident with the neighbour and...he got there when he got there. He could see a man leaning against the sturdy-looking fence. Erik’s messy blonde hair was unmistakable, but his build was different. He couldn’t be taller, right? But he looked it. And he wasn’t scrawny anymore–Sig could see the muscles straining at the old clothes Erik had been wearing the day he was arrested. 

He rolled down the window to call out. “Hey, asshole!” 

Erik had already spotted Sig and was making his way to the car, a smile tugging at his face. Erik leaned into the window. “Can’t even be bothered to give me a hug?”

Sigefrid opened the car door forcefully, pushing Erik off balance. He swept the younger man into a crushing hug. Yup, Erik had bulked up. But this close, Sig could still feel a softness to him. He had hoped prison would have beat that out of Erik, like he’d tried to all through their adolescence. But Erik’s softness was surprisingly resilient.

“They just leave you out here unattended, huh? And you a hardened criminal.”

Erik climbed into the passenger seat. “I’m not their problem anymore.”

“Guess you’re my problem.”

Sig gunned the engine then sped out of the prison parking lot. Fuck that place. Better off in the rear view mirror.

“So what are we thinking? Food first or booze?”

“How about bed?”

“Of course that’s what you want, you horny bastard.”

“No, bed. Sleep, Sig. I’m exhausted. I feel like I haven’t slept in a year.”

“You’re finally free and you want to take a nap?” Erik just shrugged. “Fine, but we’re grabbing some food on the way home. Burgers?”

Erik’s face lit up. “Yes!”

They drove in silence for a while. Sigefrid hated silence. There had been too much of it lately. He glanced over and saw Erik staring out the window at a cemetery on the side of the highway. 

“We can go tomorrow morning. It’s nicer then.”

Erik nodded without looking at him.

Sigefrid cleared his throat. “So I’ll put you down for your nap, but what about tonight? I’m seeing this girl and she has a roommate. A really hot roommate. Like I went home with her and regretted my choice, you know?”

Erik gave a strained smile. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Still?”

“Yes.”

Erik had been out as bi for a couple of years, but Sig still wasn’t buying it. Why, when you were still attracted to women, would you choose a man? Men were awful. Sig sighed. “You know, there are a lot of tits in the world.”

“How fortunate for you,” Erik replied.

“Ok, but when Boring–”

“Bjorn.”

“–dumps you, I’m setting you up with a nice girl. Or a bad girl. Your choice.”

Erik sighed. “Sigefrid…”

“Twelve minutes.”

“What?”

Sig tapped the clock. “Twelve minutes. That’s how long it took before you said my name like that. That long-suffering sigh of yours. You sound just like her, you know that?”

Erik’s eyes creased, though in hurt or guilt, Sig wasn’t sure which. Erik opened his mouth to speak but Sig talked over him. “Don’t worry about it. I need it, right? I need someone to be disappointed in me. Makes me fight harder.”

“I don’t think you need to fight any harder than you already do.”

Sig grinned smugly.

Erik ate an entire burger in record time. He had been anxious the whole ride and into the restaurant, jiggling his leg and tapping any surface within reach. He kept looking around the room methodically, like he was checking every angle. Sigefrid had seen the same jumpy look in vets, and he wanted to reassure his brother that he had his back. But he wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to be watching for.

When Erik had decimated his own fries and was digging into Sigefrid’s, he finally talked.

“So you said you have a job for me? Not the shit that landed me in prison, right?”

“No. All above board. Ish.”

Erik smiled and shook his head. “What is it?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“What if I told you I only want to work jobs I can acknowledge in public? 

“Then you’re gonna have a dull life, kid.” Sig expected Erik to react to the old nickname, but he didn’t. “Don’t worry, it’s good work. Work you’ll care about. You’ll see. Let’s go, eh? I don’t want to get caught in some bullshit rush hour traffic.”

Erik chuckled. “I missed you, Sig.”

Sig didn’t say it back. He just punched Erik’s arm a little harder than strictly necessary. Erik grinned.

Sig felt a little weird unlocking the door of the apartment. He spent very little time here these days, preferring to spend the night in some girl’s bed or stay late at the pseudo-barracks the militia had erected. But Erik looked relieved to see his old home. Of course, the apartment was a mess. Sig had considered cleaning it, but then he’d thought about how much Erik loved to stress clean. There’d be plenty of stress in the coming days for Erik to cope with. Sigefrid considered the mess now–dishes heaped on every surface in the kitchen, a trail of dirty clothes leading down the hallway, a dusty and scuffed up floor–and felt oddly proud. This was a little gift, just for Erik.

But Erik didn’t seem pleased when Sigefrid handed him a musty towel, and he made a disgusted noise when he saw the shower. Sig ignored him, digging through the fridge for a beer.

When Erik emerged from the shower, Sig almost did a double take. Erik was built.The boys Sig drank with would kill to look like him. Erik caught Sig staring and looked a little self-conscious. “Prison is fucking boring,” he explained, then shut the door of the bedroom behind him. Sigefrid stood in the kitchen a little stunned. For the first time in their lives, he felt like the weaker one. The realization settled like a weight in his gut.

After a few minutes, he knocked. “You want a beer?”  
Erik opened the door. He was dressed in some of Sig’s hand me downs. “Nah, I’m going to get some rest. Are the sheets clean? Of course they aren’t.” Sig laughed and turned to leave. “Hey, Sig? Thanks for picking me up.”

“Just take your nap so we can go out and celebrate.”

Once Erik was asleep, Sig felt restless. He paced the small apartment, hunted for another beer, a joint, something. Then he gave up and left. He hesitated at the door–it felt wrong to lock Erik in, but Sigefrid didn’t exactly have friends in the building. He didn’t want his brother getting into trouble because of him. At least not yet. He turned the key.

He drove downtown and pulled up to an old townhouse. He knocked loudly then paced the porch impatiently. Finally, a dark haired woman opened the door. She smiled when she saw Sig, but before she could greet him, he was inside, shoving her against the wall and kissing her hard. 

“Fuck, what’s got into you?” She squirmed a little as he kissed her neck, his hands already inside her shirt. 

“Got bored,” he said, pulling back long enough to pull off her shirt. 

“You could give me a heads up next time, you know. I might have plans. Or visitors.”

He looked around the empty apartment pointedly.

“I said I _might_.”

“Should I leave?” He asked, kneeling down in front of her to push up her skirt.

She looked down at him for a long moment, as if weighing her options. “No. But you’re wearing a condom this time. I don’t give a shit about your test results, I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“Slut shaming isn’t a good look on you,” he countered, planting biting kisses inside her thighs. Her laughter turned to moans as he pulled her panties aside. 

She had dozed off, so he got dressed as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake her. But he tripped on something in the semi-darkness and she flicked on the lamp. 

“Only sluts sneak out, Sigefrid.”

“Yeah, well, I have things to do.”

“Didn’t your brother get out today? How is he? Did you leave him all alone already?”

Sig frowned. He hadn’t told her about Erik. But people talked. He didn’t. Not about real shit like this. “Call you later,” he said, ignoring her questions.

“Sure you will.” She turned off the lamp as he left the room.

He stopped on the way home to pick up some beer and some food, enough to get Erik through the next few days. He ran into a buddy outside the liquor store. By the time he got back to the apartment, it was dark and late. He was surprised to see Erik asleep on the couch.

Erik woke up with a jerk, his breath quick and panicked. He sat up and looked around him, getting his bearings, taking in the apartment and Sig standing with the bags. 

“Where did you go?”

“Out,” Sig said, surprised at Erik’s tone. 

“I woke up and you weren’t here.” Erik heard the strange edge of fear in his voice. He rubbed his face. “I guess I’m not used to being alone.”

Sig handed him a drink. “Then let’s go out! No point being trapped inside again, right? Time to celebrate your freedom.”

Erik took a long swig but his face was still tense and hard. “Yeah, sure. Hey, has Bjorn called lately?”

Sig turned to the answering machine as if he were checking for calls. There weren’t any. He knew this and he knew why. But he could pretend, right? Give the kid some hope. “Nope. You didn’t speak at the prison?”

Erik shook his head. “He hasn’t been answering lately.”

“Call him now.”

Erik looked embarrassed. “I did. No answer. You haven’t seen him around?”

Sig shrugged. “Yeah, here and there. He usually hangs out at the pool hall, right?” Erik nodded. “Let’s go. After a drink.”

“You got some food in there, too?”

Sigefrid proudly brandished a loaf of bread. Erik smiled and followed him into the kitchen. 

Sig was awful at pool. He was too aggressive, brandishing the cue like it was a weapon. Erik, on the other hand, pocketed the balls with precise, measured strikes. When they teamed up, though, they usually won, each of their strengths balancing out the other's weakness. Erik would clear the table while Sig joked with their opponents. When Sig was in a good mood, they'd end the game with a few more dollars in their pockets and a couple of new drinking buddies. When Sig was in a bad mood...well, things usually ended in a fight. 

Tonight, though, Erik was off. His hands shook a little when he held the cue, and he kept losing focus, his eyes scanning the room. Sig wasn't sure if he was looking for potential threats or that shitty boyfriend. Either way, Erik was too off kilter to play well, and neither of them could afford to lose much. They lost the first game then Sig hustled Erik outside for a smoke.

There was a huddle of women outside the bar, passing around a joint. A little ripple of excitement went through them when the brothers approached. Sig had a moment of doubt–they were after Erik, weren't they? He was strong and blonde with that softness around the eyes that women loved and Sig resented. But when Sig leaned into the nearest woman, asking for a light, she giggled. She didn't seem to mind the rougher, thinner brother.

"My brother keeps striking out tonight," Sig said, offering them each a cigarette. "You girls know where we can find a better party?"

But even now, Erik was somewhere else, stupidly staring past the beautiful, friendly women. His face suddenly lit up and he walked off. Sig rolled his eyes and turned back to the girls. But he half listened to the conversation down the sidewalk.

"Hey!" Erik was beaming at a shorter, broad shouldered man with bright eyes. Fucking Bjorn. "I was hoping to see you. Where’ve you been? I haven't heard from you lately."

Bjorn kept his hands in his pockets, not embracing or even approaching Erik. It wasn't a warm reunion and Erik's shoulders fell a little in disappointment.

"Ask your brother. He can tell you."

Erik followed Bjorn's glare to Sig, who was half turned away, tense and uncomfortable. "Tell me what?" Erik asked, sounding like a little kid. His innocence made Sig angry. "Bjorn, tell me what?"

"It's over, Erik. This…us. It's done. Good luck."

Bjorn walked on, past Sig and the women and into the bar. Erik stood alone on the sidewalk. He looked so fucking pathetic. Sig dropped his smoke and crushed it under his heel. He thanked the pretty women and strode over to his brother.

"Let's hit Valkyries, eh?" He set out down the sidewalk. Erik followed mechanically.

"What just happened, Sig?" Erik's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

"That bastard dumped you like I said he would."

"No." Erik said firmly. He had stopped walking and he stood stubbornly. "What did you do?"

Sig huffed in impatience. "Me? I didn't do shit! What did _he_ do? When was the last time he even called you, let alone visited? Did you really think it was going to last?"

"It was good, Sig. We were good. He got busy, but–"

"He got busy sucking someone else's dick. He didn't give a shit about you."

"That's not true."

Sig groaned. "Fuck, Erik, let's just move on."

"Move on? I just got out of prison. My whole life is a mess that I suddenly have to clean up. And I just lost...How exactly am I supposed to _move on_?"

Sig shook his head and turned away.

"Should I just punch someone in the face, Sig, like you do? Is that going to make this all better?"

Sig ignored him, turning down an alley.

"Oh shit, that's it, isn't it?" Erik laughed a little hysterically. "You punched Bjorn in the face. You picked a fight and fucked things up for me yet again. Another relationship ruined by my asshole brother."

Sig spun around. "You think Bjorn would still be here if I'd kept my fist out of his face? He couldn't handle it, Erik. He didn't want to sit next to the phone waiting to hear from the prisoner with the dying mum. I just made sure he stopped jerking you around."

"Thanks so much. How fucking considerate of you."

Erik shoved past Sigefrid. 

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get drunk," Erik called over his shoulder. "Are you coming or not?"

Sig ran to catch up.

Ok, so Sig didn't _know_ Bjorn was a cheating bastard when he hit him. But he found out afterwards so that made it revenge. Just, like, advanced revenge. 

They'd been at the same pub, though not together, obviously. Bjorn was in a booth with some guys and Sig was at the bar. He'd been in the hospital all day and his hands still smelled like sanitizer and his skin had that crawling feeling, like there were germs or something, like he wasn’t clean.

Bjorn was giving him attitude. Sig was within earshot of the conversation and Bjorn knew it. From his words, from his tone, it was clear he blamed Sig. Blamed him for Erik getting caught and charged and locked up. And yeah, Erik wouldn't have been there that night if not for Sig, but who the fuck cared? It wasn't Sig's fault how it all played out. At least, that's what he believed. Bjorn clearly didn't.

Bjorn came up to the bar to buy another pitcher. He leaned against the counter a few feet from Sig. Sig studiously ignored Bjorn, staring into his whiskey glass. But Bjorn leaned forward anyway, just a bit, and tilted his head sympathetically.

"How's your mum?" He asked.

Sig punched him so hard that blood spurted onto the counter. While Bjorn was still yelling in pain, Sig dropped a few bills on the bar, drained his glass and left. He hadn't seen Bjorn since. Until tonight.

Now he was standing in the same bar with Erik at his side. Bjorn was in the past, the hospital was in the past, prison was in the past. The brothers were back together and there was beer to drink. He smiled.

"Do you know that woman?"

"What woman?"

Erik scoffed. “The gorgeous blonde you keep glancing at."

Sig made a show of looking around before his eyes fell on Alva. “Yup. I know her from work."

"Is she cool?"

"She's a stuck up bitch."

"Well, she's on her way over."

Alva pulled a chair up without waiting for an invitation. "You must be the famous brother," she smiled at Erik. "I'm Alva. We're all excited to meet you."

"All?"

"All of us at the militia." Erik stayed confused. "Sig didn't tell you? Sig, what did I say about using your words?"

"That it's a waste of time I could spend eating you out?"

"Sigefrid…" Erik and Alva said in unison.

"Now there's two of you. Will you shut up if I buy you drinks?"

Alva grinned. "Why don't you be a dear and find out?"

Sig groaned and stood up.

Alva rested a hand on Erik's arm. "How are you with everything?"

Erik shrugged. "I don't even know where I am right now. I'm… well, we'll see I guess. How about Sigefrid, has he been...ok?"

"What does ok look like for Sig?"

"I have no idea," Erik said with a laugh. 

"I don't know him super well, but he seems angrier, if that's possible. He's been looking forward to you, though. I think you'll be good for him."

"Yeah, I hope I’ll be."

She leaned forward and dropped her voice. "Just look after yourself, ok? He sucks the air out of the room sometimes, but the rest of us still need to breathe."

"You're sure you don't know him well?"

Alva smiled. 

Sig appeared with shot glasses balanced in his big hands. "Take em before I break em," he said. He lifted his own glass in a toast. "To the kid, who grew the fuck up."

Erik's eyes creased in a smile.

"To Erik," Alva added, "back in the land of the living."

"To whiskey and private toilets," Erik finished. They laughed and drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to know what you think about this!


	2. Sad Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik tries to process his grief while Sig tries to avoid his.

Sig was bright eyed the next morning, drinking coffee in the kitchen when Erik stumbled out. Erik was wrecked. Apparently a year off booze could lower your tolerance a little. Erik collapsed onto the couch with his eyes shut tight. He moaned when the Advil bottle hit him in the head. 

“Why didn’t you hook up with Alva last night?” Sig asked when he dropped a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Erik. 

Erik’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Was I supposed to?”

“Why not?” Sig’s voice was sharp, just on the edge of anger. He thought about backing off. He didn’t.

“She didn’t seem interested. I wasn’t really interested. Besides, aren’t you–”

“I don’t care about that bitch.”

Erik’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

“What?”

Erik shook his head. “Never mind.”

“No, what!”

“She won’t sleep with you and you’re all pissy about it. Tell me, do you want her because she’s great or because she doesn’t want you?”

“I don’t want her–”

“Poor Sigefrid. Someone doesn’t want anything to do with your dick and you’re crushed.”

“That’s not–”

“I like her even more now. She’s playing with you. That’s awesome.”

Sig shoved Erik, spilling the cup of coffee balanced on the arm of the couch.

“Dude, chill! I was just teasing you.” 

“We’re leaving at 11. Be ready.” Sig stalked out of the room.

Twenty minutes later, they met back in the living room. Erik had cleaned up and was wearing a button up shirt that was a little too tight and nice pants and shoes. Sig looked him up and down and rolled his eyes. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

“What?” Erik asked, looking down self-consciously.

“No one is going to see you.”

“So? I want to look nice.”

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

The drive was short and quiet. Erik seemed to have shed some of his nerves since the day before. But the new silence left Sig feel antsy. He was relieved when they pulled up to the cemetery. 

He led the way through the gates, walking quickly and confidently to a far off corner. He stopped in front of a mound of dirt. Erik stood beside him.

“This is her?”

“This is it.”

“There’s no marker.”

“I couldn’t afford it. It’ll happen, once I get some money together.”

“Once we do.” Erik patted Sig’s shoulder. Sig let himself smile. “It’s nice here, though. The trees and all? She’d like that.”

“Yeah, I know. It gets really sunny here in the afternoon. It makes me think of her sitting by that window at our old place. You probably don’t remember that.”

Erik shook his head. He raised his hand to his face, rubbing his chin. His hand was shaking again, like the night before.

“You want me to leave?” Sig asked.

“No. I’ll come back another day. I just want to get out of here now.”

Sig led him back to the car. 

They drove to a big thrift store so Erik could buy some clothes “that didn’t make him look like a doofus,” in Sig’s words. Doofus was one of the kinder words he could have used. Sig waited while Erik shifted through hangers. Whenever Erik dropped something into the cart, Sig picked it up, examined it, and put it back on the rack. The third time Erik turned on him.

“Come on, Sig. It’s my fucking closet, not yours.”

“You need to stop dressing like a lumberjack.”

“Why? People like lumberjacks. And it’s comfortable,” Erik dropped another plaid shirt into the cart, then held it down with his hand so Sig couldn’t remove it. “Go away. Go get us some cleaning supplies or something and pick me up in a bit.”

“Cleaning supplies?” Sig said incredulously.

“I’ll do the cleaning, you just need to get the stuff, ok?”

Sig sighed in surrender. “What, like, soap and towels?”

Erik laughed. “Dish soap. Washcloths. Sponges. Bleach." He noticed Sig’s blank look. “I’ll make a list.” He pulled out a pen and an old receipt and started scribbling.

“I don’t want to hang around that section too long. Don’t want to look g–” Sig stopped himself short.

“You know, I’m the expert on this and I’m happy to tell you: buying dish soap has absolutely nothing to do with having sex with another man. Surprising, right? But, picture this: you’re out at the bar. There’s a girl. She’s hot. She likes you. She’s game, but she lives with her parents, or in a dorm, or in a convent or some shit. But it’s not a problem, because you have a sparkling clean apartment to bring her home to. Every surface, clean enough to fuck on.”

“That’s quite the picture. One problem: what do I do about my loser brother lying in the twin bed next across the room?”

“In this fantasy, I have friends and a job and places to be. Besides, you can just take mum’s room.”

Sig shook his head sharply. 

“Right,” Erik said. He handed Sig the list. “Then I’ll take the couch. You can have both beds. One for each girl, or something.”

“I’ll be back in half an hour, and I’m not waiting so be ready.”

“Love you, Sig.”

It was the domestic details that did them both in. 

Sig was standing in the grocery store with a basket in one hand and Erik’s list in the other. He was trying to decide which was more manly, lemon or lilac, when he caught sight of an absurd pyramid of toilet paper. He was hit by a memory of a day years before: standing in an aisle just like this one, holding Erik’s hand so he wouldn’t run off. Erik was his responsibility, and it made him feel a little pleased and grown up. Sig was still small, too small to see the shelf his mum was looking at. But he could see her face; her mouth was a tight line and there was a wrinkle of worry around her eyes. She turned to Sig with a smile he knew wasn’t real.

“What do you think, boys, toilet paper or soap this month? Which is more important?” She held up the objects in question. 

“Toilet paper,” Sig said confidently.

“Soap,” Erik insisted in the small whiny voice of a little kid.

Their mum ignored them both, looking back at the shelf. After another moment, she dropped the soap into the cart and pushed on, not even looking back to be sure they followed.

Sig tried not to think about this shit. Not when he was paying hundred dollar bar tabs or passing bills to his dealer. He knew he could party like that because he’d always lived cheap–out of necessity and now, as he began to make more money, out of habit. But just thinking about money made him angry. He cashed his pay cheque without looking at the amount. If he looked, he’d know that he was making double what his mum ever made, even though he did shit all every day and she worked like a dog. Now, though, he thought about the cost of soap and hospital bills and headstones and whiskey. He thought about being hungry when he was five and eight and twelve. His stomach clenched like it did back then, but it wasn’t hunger pangs, it was a bitter fury that had no target. 

He chose the lemon.

When he pulled up in front of the thrift store, he saw Erik leaning against the wall. It was an echo of the day before at the prison. But this time, Erik wasn’t eager and smiling. He was clutching two plastic bags and his face was dark. Sig drove onto the curb, getting as close as he could so Erik could get in.

As soon as the car door shut, Erik crumpled. He doubled over onto the dashboard and let out these long, choking sobs that stabbed Sigefrid in the chest. Sig just drove until they reached a park, somewhere they could sit a while. He looked over at his brother, all snot and ragged breaths. Erik still had one of the plastic bags clutched in his hand and Sig could see that his skin was white where the handle had twisted around his wrist. So Sig started there, with that handle. That was easy. Tear at the plastic until it ripped free, toss the bag in the back, massage the wrist a little to get the circulation flowing. But then, Sig was at a loss.

“You got any words in there, kid?”

Erik shook his head violently but then spoke in concise phrases, breathing hard in between. “I tried on this sweater. And it was blue. Like the one she knit me. The one I burned. By accident. And I thought about how sad she was. But I didn’t know. How hard she worked. She did it in secret. I didn’t know.” The sobs increased.

“You’re remembering wrong.  _ I  _ burned the sweater. It was my fault."

"I was the one wearing it."

"I was the one holding the blow torch."

“She’s never gonna see me wear another sweater,” Erik said shakily.

“I know,” Sig offered, helplessly.

“I didn’t get to see her at the end.”

“I know.”

“You were there, right?”

Sig wanted to say yes. He lied to lots of people about lots of things. But not to Erik about this. “No.” His voice was small and weak, like him.

Erik sat up and looked at Sig through swollen eyes. “Was she in pain?”

Sig almost cried then. “Yes.”

“Fuck.” Erik wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then punched the dashboard. “FUCK.” He wiped his nose this time, shamelessly blowing it on his sleeve. Then he turned to Sig with a watery smile. “Can we get some cookies?”

“Sure, kid.”

While Erik cleaned, Sig lay on the couch and watched tv. He flipped through channels in a haze. He felt slow, out of step with the world. Erik moved around the apartment in a blur, and when Sigefrid finally raised his head it was dark outside, the sun down. He stood up, stretching stiff limbs, and went to look for Erik.

Erik was standing in the doorway of their mum’s room. The night she died, Sig had taken every object that belonged to her and piled it on her bed, on the floor, on the dresser. Then he’d shut the door tight. He hadn’t opened it since, and the room was stuffy and dusty. He didn’t wait to see how Erik would react. He grabbed his keys and left.

A different house and a different girl, this time on the outskirts of town. This girl was blonde and talkative. She could gab about pointless crap for hours. Sometimes it bothered Sigefrid, but tonight it was white noise, just what he needed. She rode him until she came, then sucked his cock. Through the half open bedroom door, he could see her roommate–the hot one–watching. He held her gaze, pulling the woman’s hair tight while he finished in her mouth. The roommate snuck off before she raised her head. 

While the blonde showered, Sig went looking for the roommate. He found her in the kitchen, and he fucked her against the counter, hard and fast. He covered her mouth with his hand while she moaned, trying to keep her quiet so the sound wouldn’t carry over the running water. But she was loud and in the end, he wanted to hear her. He wanted her pleasure to drown out his pain, just for a little while. She collapsed against the counter with a cry and he felt a smug satisfaction. She spun around and kissed him, her arms clinging to his neck. 

“You got a pen?” Sig muttered. The girl handed him a pen and a stack of post-its. He wrote down his address. “I’m off work all week. You come see me, alright?” She nodded.

By the time the blonde turned off the shower, Sig was gone. 

Women had always come easy to Sigefrid. He was tough, funny, and attractive, and women liked him–at least for a few hours, and a few hours was all he really wanted. He knew his mum hadn’t been very impressed by his pattern with women, and she had long ago stopped asking about relationships and girlfriends. Erik was a little less judgmental, probably because he wanted Sigefrid to stay off his back about the whole bi thing. A ‘you don’t judge me and I won’t judge you’ approach. But Sig didn’t see any problem with what he did. He never made anyone promises he couldn’t keep. He never pushed for more than they would give. He pleased them and took pleasure and moved on. It’s not like he ever crossed into deep emotional territory–when things ended, all these women ever lost was a good lay. 

Which is probably why Alva bothered him so much. She hadn’t come on to him, but she didn’t hate him, either. Usually it was one of the other. Instead, she just talked to him, a little more every day. He wasn’t sure if she treated all the guys like that–checking in on them and making them laugh, only to throw them off with a little joke at their expense. Maybe he was nothing special. But when her eyes were on him, some frantic little part of him actually went still. He couldn’t make sense of that.

So he stayed in familiar territory: women in bars and at parties, friends and roommates of women he’d already been with, sisters and exes of his own friends. This last category was a little iffy, but he figured he was a pretty straightforward guy. Anyone who introduced him to their sister had to accept the consequences. He’d just keep finding pleasure in whatever form it came. And eventually, Alva would slip right out of his head.

Sig spent a long time in the gym the next day. He didn’t want to admit he was driven by envy. A part of his ego was wrapped up in being the older brother, with all that came with that–stronger, tougher, more experienced. But Erik had been through something all on his own, hardened in ways Sig couldn’t even begin to understand. It made Sig feel both proud and resentful.

“Someone stopped by looking for you,” Erik said when Sig came in the door.

“Who?”

“Tove.”

“Who?”

Erik gave Sig a look. “Brown hair. Tall. Glasses. Really attractive.”

Sig remembered the roommate and nodded.

“And someone called for you. Elise. Can’t give a physical description, so you’re just gonna have to wrack your brain on that one.”

“No, I remember her. She leave a message?”

Erik picked up a pad of paper. “Yup. Not sure if I got it all down. ‘Tell your brother he’s a fucking slut bastard and if I ever see his dick in my house again I’ll chop it off.’ And then some more threats. Any idea what that’s about?”

Sig groaned. “That’s probably about her roommate Tove.”

“Sig, you have to play smarter. You’re gonna run out of women. Beomfleet’s only so big.”

Sig shrugged. “More women turn eighteen every day.”

Erik gagged. “If you were any older, I’d beat the shit out of you for that one.”

“Did Tove leave a number?”

“Yes, but it appears to be the same number Elise called from, so…”

“Good thing you’re here, Erik. I would not have noticed that.”

“They live together, Sig.”

“I never said I was the smart one.”

Sig dropped two coffees–from the good place–on the table and plopped down next to Erik. “Ok, let’s talk work.”

“Wanna shower first?”

“Nope.” He pulled a pamphlet out from his coat pocket and handed it to Erik. “Read.”

Erik worked his way through the pamphlet while Sig sipped his coffee. After five minutes he was impatient. Did Erik really need to read every word? Couldn’t he get the gist? Sig paced a little, noted that the door to their mother’s room was open, that her possessions were neatly stacked in piles. He shut the door tight and stomped back to the living room.

“So?”

Erik closed the pamphlet. “Yup.”

“You’re in?”

“I’m in.”

Sig raised his eyebrows. “I thought you’d have moral objections or something.”

“Well, I want to know what the resistance is going to look like, but I’ve had enough of taking orders from incompetent Saxon assholes. We could run this island better, just the two of us, and we’re not all that great.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, brother.” Sig dropped onto the couch and put his arm around Erik. “We’re fucking warriors. We’re gonna take them down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things about this chapter:  
> \- I owe a lot to MissGuided12, who referred to Erik as Sigefrid's pet project. Sig would like Erik to dress the right way and sleep with the right people. Erik, unfortunately, continues to be an independent human being. The nerve.  
> \- Young Sig came from the hairspray and lighter school of blow torches, like so many dirtbag boys of my own past.  
> \- I made myself very sad writing this chapter. I want these boys to have hugs and warm sweaters, even when they objectively suck.  
> \- I just binged Young and Promising so I'm going to steal a bunch of names from those characters.  
> \- Erik's major personality trait is soft clothing, and I stand by that.


	3. The Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigefrid brings Erik to work at the militia, and pushes for something more from Alva. Or: Sig has feelings and he hates it.

Sigefrid brought Erik to headquarters on Monday morning to get him all set up. It was a huddle of buildings just outside town, set behind a tall fence. The woman at the gate recognized Sig’s car and waved him through.

Alva was at the front desk, looking beautiful. She had dyed her hair pink since he’d last seen her, a soft pastel colour that made her eyes shine extra bright. She wore dark pink lipstick and thick black eyeliner. Sig stared at her for a little too long.

“Morning, boys! I have some paperwork for you.” She handed Erik a clipboard and pen.

Erik furrowed his brow. “What am I signing away, exactly?”

“Who cares? Just sign it.”

“Take your time, Erik,” Alva countered. “Sit down and read it all through. You two want some coffee?”

She left the room and Sig tried not to watch her leave. He failed. 

While Erik read, Sig kept himself busy. There was always something to do “on base,” as they called it. This morning, he took out the garbage, put away equipment, chopped wood. By the time he came back, Erik and Alva were chatting over cups of hot coffee. Sig took a sip of Erik’s. It was awful.

“Did you make this?”

Alva frowned at him. “Yes.”

“You should never make coffee again.”

“Fuck you! Make your own coffee.”

“Don’t mind him,” Erik assured her. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but Sig is a coffee snob.”

Sig rolled his eyes. “I just don’t drink shitty coffee. There’s nothing snobby about it.”

“He has only deemed three coffee shops worthy of his time. Three, in the whole city! And if I don’t make the coffee to his liking, he pours it on me. Just right on my fucking lap!”

“That hasn’t happened in years.”

“Yeah, cause I’ve been in prison. I swear, Alva. He’s the worst. Just ignore him.”

“I’ll try,” she said with a crooked grin that Sig somehow felt in his groin.

The door slammed and a short, hairy man entered. He greeted them all and then did a double take.

“Thurgilson??”

Sig was ready to glare at him when Erik burst into happy laughter.

“Olav! What the fuck!” 

Sig watched his brother hug the hairier man. 

“When did you get out, kid?” 

“Kid?” Alva asked.

“Prison nickname,” Olav clarified. “You shoulda seen this kid two years ago, Alva. All scrawny and scared. He looked like he’d break if you so much as frowned at him. But we kept him safe, didn’t we?”

Erik laughed. “Yeah, for a price.” 

“Whatever, kid, you loved us. As far as nicknames go, kid isn’t too bad.”

“It’s true,” Erik agreed. “And Olav would know. Right, Face Fungus?” He tugged some of the hairs in Olav’s wiry sideburns. Olav swiped at him and lurched backwards.

“Fuck off! That was never my nickname.” Behind his back, Erik mouthed  _ it was _ . “Dagfinn and Thoren are here. They’re gonna flip when they see you.”

Erik frowned. “Maybe. Is Dagfinn still pissed about that whole noodle thing?”

“It’s been eight months!” Olav said. “So yes, he is. But who cares, you’re bigger than him now, you can take him. Let’s go.”

Erik turned back to Alva and Sig. He had an eager look on his face, like a puppy who just saw a leash. “Are we ok here?”

Alva nodded. “Yup. I have to go through these forms and then we’ll get you started with training. Just be back in half an hour?”

Erik and Olav stumbled out the door, laughing and punching each other. Sigefrid watched them go. He had that heavy feeling in his gut again. The plan had been to bring Erik in on this as his little brother, his underling. But now Erik was off with a gang of old friends, exchanging inside jokes and jabs. It reminded Sigefrid of something he had tried to forget: loneliness. He had been lonely while Erik was gone. It was stupid and pathetic, because he’d been working all the time with all these militia guys, and when he wasn’t working, he was at the hospital or in some woman’s bed. Loneliness made no sense. Erik was just a person and he was surrounded by people. 

“So do you want the coffee or not?”

Alva’s voice disrupted his downward spiral. “I’ll drink it,” he said resentfully.

“Don’t do me any favours.” She sat down behind the desk and started to flip through Erik’s paperwork. “Looks like he’s gonna fit right in. Good call, Sig.”

“Yeah, guess so. Hope he can keep up.”

“He’ll be fine,” she said without looking up.

Sig felt out of place now, like he had nothing to do. Erik had taken over his territory.  _ His _ . He needed something of his own. Something to claim.

“How come you never go out with me?” He asked, leaning on the desk.

Alva looked up in surprise. “You’ve never asked.”

“Have so.”

“You’ve made crude remarks, but I thought you did that for every woman. Didn’t realize it was an invitation.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” she said, looking back at the paperwork.

“Alva, wanna get a drink?”

She looked up again and considered him. He waited, impatiently. Finally, she spoke.

“Why? I thought you had enough women in the roster. What, do you suddenly have a slot open? Sunday afternoons or something?”

He smiled a little proudly. It wasn’t a bad description of his sex life. “Maybe.”

“Don’t I feel special.”

“Don’t you like me?”

Alva’s face went a little dark. “I’ve thought about this–”  _ So she did like him _ . “–and it’s not going to work out.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re either gonna fuck me over or you’re gonna end up dead on the side of some road, and either way, I lose.”

Sig was taken aback. This had escalated quickly. Her directness made him nervous, but it also made him want her more. “Or maybe we have a drink, have some sex, and show up here tomorrow and go back to being angry colleagues.”

“I’m trying to scare you off, Sig.” She stared at him sharply

He held her gaze. “I’m not scared.”

There was a long beat in which her eyes seemed to go from bright to dark, and he knew that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. Then she spun her chair towards the wall. 

“According to the schedule, we’re both off Wednesday night. Pick me up at eight.” She spun back around and gave him a wide grin before diving into the paperwork again. Sig was shaken and elated. She had said yes, and then she had dismissed him. And for once, he didn’t mind.

A group of them met in the yard, as they always did on Monday morning, getting their orders for the week. Erik was introduced, though it seemed he already knew a good third of the warriors. The militia had been recruiting pretty heavily from the ex-con set, which made sense because the Saxons were committed to packing the already overflowing prisons.

One of the guys in charge, a skinny, sharp older man named Ubbe, gave Erik a once over. “You can join the patrol.”

Sig’s brow furrowed. As much as he wanted Erik with him, patrol was a waste of his talents. “Nah, Ubbe, Erik’s smart. He should be in intelligence or logistics or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

Ubbe raised his eyebrows. “Did I ask your opinion?” He looked back at Erik. “The boy is strong. We need strong. I’m putting him on patrol.” Ubbe turned away, conversation over.

“That’s a waste,” Sig pushed. “He’s more useful in planning.”

Ubbe glared at Sig until Olav spoke up. “He’s right, Ubbe. The kid is more clever than any of us. You should have seen the schemes he pulled back in Watling. We could use him.” Dagfinn and Thoren made noises of agreement.

Ubbe nodded slowly. “Fine. We try him out in logistics. But I want him to keep training, in case his body is more impressive than his brains.”

Sig bristled a bit. Ubbe should have trusted him. He shouldn’t have needed those guys to vouch for Erik. Ubbe should not have underestimated Erik. Erik caught Sig’s eye and shook his head slightly. He was telling Sig to cool off, let it go. For a moment, Sig faltered. If he let his anger fly, it would feel good. But he was pissed off because Erik was smart and everyone should know it. So he actually needed to listen to Erik, respect that his smart ass brother knew the best way to handle this situation. Sometimes he hated how different they were, how Erik’s strengths could curb his own. Then again, his mother had always said that his particular brand of anger wasn’t a strength at all.

Wednesday didn’t come fast enough. Sigefrid left Erik alone in the apartment, not before reminding Erik about all the booze and women to be found out in the world, and followed Alva’s directions. He pulled up outside a small apartment building on the other side of downtown. It looked pretty rough from the outside, but when he buzzed up, he walked through well-kept hallways and a brightly-lit staircase to Alva’s open door. She ushered him inside and gestured to an armchair before disappearing into what he assumed was the bathroom.

The apartment was tiny, a bachelor with a closet of a kitchen and not much else. The bulk of the space was occupied by the bed pushed up against a large window. Sig walked the small space, trying to get a sense for Alva. Everything was crowded but tidy: drawers built into the bed frame, hooks and shelves lining the walls. The storage was organized in clear sections: pantry, clothes, cleaning supplies, tools. Wherever there wasn’t a shelf or a hook, there was a picture: photographs of Alva with various people, drawings, paintings, and even embroideries.This apartment was the most lived-in place he’d ever seen. 

“How long have you lived here?” Sig called.

Alva emerged from the bathroom with fresh lipstick. “Seven years now? I moved in when I was sixteen.”

“On your own?”

“Yup. Needed my own space.” She said it so matter of factly that he didn’t ask any follow up questions. “It’s tiny but the rent is cheap and the owner gives me discounts when I work on the building. Which I do quite a lot.”

Sig nodded, glancing over at the power tools and toolbox. He was still a little awestruck by the place. “So, you like... _ live  _ here.”

She smiled a little indulgently. “Yes, Sig, I  _ live _ here. Don’t you live in your apartment?”

He shrugged. “I sleep there. Sometimes. Maybe I’ll spend a little more time there now that Erik’s back, but ever since my mum went into the hospital, it’s not really worth it, right?”

“What do you mean?” 

He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as she put on a pair of earrings. He regretted speaking the thought aloud. He didn’t want to put this into words. “I mean, it’s not my place. It’s just a set of rooms.”

“You don’t want to make it your place?”

“I wouldn’t know how to do that.” He looked around again. “Maybe you can teach me.”

She was quiet for a little while. “I didn’t get a home growing up. Wherever we lived, it was always contested territory. Leaving my bedroom was always a bit of a risk. I hated that. I wanted to feel settled and safe. Once I found it, I decided not to let it go.”

He nodded like he understood. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He didn’t want to think about Alva feeling unsafe.

“Does it bother you?”

He looked at her in confusion.

“My apartment,” she explained. “Some people say it’s too much. They find it stressful. Do you?”

Instead of looking around the room again, Sig looked at her. “No. It’s like you.”

Alva smiled. “So I don’t stress you out, is that what you’re saying?” 

That was a trap and he knew it. He wasn’t going to answer. Not with his words. Instead, he crossed the room and kissed her.

Sigefrid brought his usual level of urgency to the kiss, pressing his body against hers and finding her skin under her clothes. But though Alva kissed back initially, she wasn’t responding. Instead, she planted a hand on his chest and pushed him back. “You asked me out for a drink.”

“So?”

“So take me out.”

“Can’t we stay here?”

“I don’t have any booze,” she said, pulling on her jacket.

“It’s not really about the drink–”

“I know. It’s about your dick. But I want a drink, so you’re taking me out for a drink. Your dick can wait.” She was holding the door open for him now, expectantly. He heaved a big sigh and stepped into the hallway. “Do women usually fuck you as soon as you show up?”

Sig grinned smugly.

“Hmm,” Alva led him down the stairs. “I think you’re spoiled, Sig. I don’t know if I like that.”

He laughed and followed her out to the car.

They ended up at a pub nearby, all dark wood and tight booths. Alva ordered a stout, and when she took the first sip, she let out a happy moan, her eyes shut. She caught Sig staring and giggled a little nervously. 

“Well, Sig, you got me out. How do you plan to entertain me?”

Hearing her bossy tone after that girlish laugh, Sig suddenly understood something. She was young and unsure, and she spoke tough to cover it up. He wanted to uncover her a bit, find who she was when she wasn’t performing authority. 

“Tell me about yourself.”

“That’s not fun. I want fun! You do the talking.”

Sig just shoke his head. He sat back in his seat and waited patiently for her to begin. 

“I don’t want to talk about my past,” she admitted.

He shrugged off her concern. “Then talk to me about now. What did you eat today? What did you jack off to last night? What are your plans for the weekend?”

She smiled nervously and chewed her thumb. He could see the nailpolish chipped there, and on the left hand, too. Alva was more delicate than he had thought. It made him want her all the more.

“I’m going to get a cat.”

“A cat?” He scoffed. “Why?”

“Why not? They’re soft and furry and sweet. It will be nice to have a warm creature to come home to.”

“If that’s what you want, just come home with me every night.”

She rolled her eyes. “I like cats.”

“Even when they’re mean?”

“They’re only mean to bad people. Sorry to break it to you.”

He laughed. “Erik brought home a cat once. She was so skinny and ugly. Gods, she meowed so loud when he was out, drove me crazy. Then as soon as he got back, she’d just curl up and go to sleep. On my bed, too. Like, what the fuck was that racket for if she was just gonna go to sleep?”

Alva grinned. “I thought you’d like cats. Erik basically is a cat, isn’t he?”

He raised his eyebrows in agreement. “And what am I?”

“An overgrown puppy, too big for your own good.”

“Mmm, I like the big part.”

“You find a way to bring your cock into everything, don’t you?”

“I try. What will you name your cat?”

Alva thought about it for a moment. “I guess I won’t know until I get it. Maybe Loki.”

“A little trickster. I like that.”

The evening went well. It was more talking than Sig was used to, but Alva was witty and fun and he liked to know more about her. But the pub was clearing out and he wanted more. 

“So,” he reached out and held her hand, stroking it gently. “Erik is at my place, being a little bit of a downer. We’ll go to your place?”

Alva narrowed her eyes. “I meant what I said, Sig. This isn’t a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I told you. If we go down this road, I’m going to get hurt. You’re not safe.”

Safe? Why the fuck did he need to be safe? He was going to dismiss it, but then he thought about Erik, locked up after a job Sig dragged him to. And his mum, dying alone. Sig wasn’t safe. And hadn’t he decided, at the start of the night, then Alva needed to be safe?

“I’m not good enough for you.” It was a statement, not a question.

Alva squeezed his hand. “No, Sig, I’m not saying that–”

“But it’s true. I saw your place tonight, Alva. You have it figured out. You know how to take care of yourself, how to be alone. I can’t be alone for five minutes.”

“I’m not as steady as you think. I need people, too.”

He nodded, then looked up at her through this deep eyes of him. “Then take me home with you.”

It was good with Alva. So good. Usually, Sig was in charge, but with her, he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be under her power. He wanted her to rule him. And she did, with a sweetness that made him ache even at the peak of his pleasure. 

When they finished, she got up and walked around the small apartment, chatting brightly as she made tea and folded clothes. Sig lay back on her bed, still and quiet. She had lights strung along her ceiling, woven through shelves and nailed up in the corners, and he had to lay his arm over his face to block them out. It had been a mistake to come home with her. He couldn’t give her what she needed. He would only take from her, like those shitty men who hung around his mum, sapping her energy and wearing her down. He would never rise to Alva’s level. He would only drag her down.

He got dressed while she was in the bathroom. When she came out, he already had one shoe on. He saw her from the corner of her eye, her hand toying with the handle of the mug. She’d made him tea. 

“See you at work?” It was an asshole thing to say, as if this had been nothing. But Sig was an asshole.

“Sure.” The smallness of her voice pissed him off. She was supposed to react. He’d expected her to be cold or angry, to call him a name or tell him to go fuck himself. She wasn’t supposed to be sad. Sig thought about turning around and facing her, but he was too much of a coward.


	4. Walking After Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sig and Alva deal with the aftermath of their date. Erik gets to know the militia guys. Content warning for homophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter is mostly just for fun with very little actual plot.  
> \- I took Solveig's name from MissGuided12, who writes Solveig as Erik and Sigefrid's truly fantastic mother in Thurgilsons, vol. 1.  
> \- I picture Alva in her cozy little apartment belting out Patsy Cline. 
> 
> I think there will be one more chapter, and then we leave this poor dirtbag to his fate.
> 
> MORE NOTES: This chapter owes a lot to Letterkenny, including a line or two. Let's admit that Letterkenny is a great, almost perfect show.

Picking up on a very subtle vibe (Sig breaking the shoe rack), Erik did not ask how the date with Alva went. He just handed his brother a beer and made space on the couch. 

“You gonna get a life anytime soon?” Sig needed to be angry at someone, and Erik was so conveniently nearby.

“Nah, I figure I’ll just live vicariously through you. You drink and fuck enough for two people, right? Means I can sit back and relax.” Erik did look annoyingly relaxed, dressed in one of those awful flannel shirts, feet up on the table. Sig gave his legs a kick, savouring the little yelp of pain.

“Alright, Sig, you have my attention. What kind of life do I need?”

Sigefrid leaned forward and started numbering of with his fingers. “A girl. A car. Some decent clothes. A haircut. Should I go on?”

Erik groaned. “That sounds like a lot of work. How about this: I’ll get a new tattoo and you can take me out this weekend.”

“What am I, your fucking boyfriend?”

“Pretty sure you scared off my boyfriend,” Erik’s tone was resentful. “So now you’re gonna buy me drinks until I find a new one. Or girl!” He added this last part when Sig went to kick him again. “You are such an asshole.”

“Yup.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Do I get to pick the tattoo?”

“Hell no.”

“Do I get to pick the bar?”

“Yes.”

“Deal.”

The next day they ran drills at headquarters. It was Erik’s first time training with the full group and the other guys were eager to push him, see how much he could take. He was sparring with Haesten, a broad, hairy guy, and he was starting to fade.

“Come on, Erik. Fuck him up!” Sigefrid was yelling from the sidelines. He winced as Erik took another hit to the face, this one leaving a messy cut high on his cheekbone. Haesten was wearing a heavy-ass ring that dealt a little extra damage. It was dirty, but Haesten seemed to get away with that shit.

Erik stumbled a bit, but caught his balance. He dodged the next hit, just barely.

“Hey, kid.” Olav was clapping to get Erik’s attention. “Remember that guard? The skinny bastard with the bowlcut? Picture him. You’re fighting him. And you’re not in cuffs this time, alright?”

Erik nodded, took a deep breath, and reared forward. He punched Haesten right in the gut, leaving the man doubled over and gasping for air. Erik grinned, licking some blood and sweat that had trickled down his face, and waited for Haesten to stand up. The moment he did, Erik got him in the chin with an uppercut. Haesten’s head jerked up and he swayed on his feet. Ever the fair fighter, Erik waited until he was steady again, then hit him with a strong right hook. Haesten fell this time. 

The men all cheered and Erik looked smug. He reached out a hand to help Haesten up, then wiped the blood from his face. The men cleared the ring for the next pair. 

Olav and Sig sat Erik on a bench so they could clean up his face. 

“It helps, eh?” Olav muttered. “Picturing those Saxon turds. They’re the ones we’re taking down, Erik. They’re the enemy. Don’t forget that.”

“Never,” Erik said. He looked happy and Sig felt a surge of pride. His little brother, stronger and smarter than any of these other assholes. He pulled Erik to his feet and hugged him tight.

Tove was mean. She’d dropped by three times that week, and every time, she got a little meaner. Sig loved it and he hoped she’d keep coming back to fuck him and tell him off. She was riding him and explaining to him just how disgusting his apartment was when the phone rang. She pinned him down so he couldn’t move to answer it, as if he’d want to. But it kept ringing and ringing. The answering machine was full, and whoever was calling wasn’t giving up. 

“Off,” he said, before standing up so Tove unceremoniously fell onto the bed. She protested but he was already down the hall, picking up the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Sig?”

He hated that he could recognize Alva’s voice that quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m out on a pick up and my car broke down. There’s nothing around, just this sketchy gas station.”

“Where?”

“Highway 13, just past Remfyrd.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you.” 

Sig got dressed fast. “Where are you going?” Tove asked grumpily.

“Got to help a friend.”

“Can you give me a ride?”

“No time.” She glared at him. He sighed and pulled out his wallet. “Money for a cab. Turn the bolt on your way out.”

He and Alva had barely spoken since their date, the night that Sig remembered being both amazing and a spectacular failure. He’d thought things would go back to normal, but everytime he caught her eye at work, she looked a little tired. Sig figured they’d get past it or they wouldn’t, and maybe he’d stay away from militia women from now on.

But when he pulled off the highway and saw her, sitting on the hood of her car, he felt that ache again, just like when they’d had sex. She was so sweet. He helped her transfer over the cargo, then held the passenger side door for her. 

“We’ll send someone to get your car in the morning. If you’re ok leaving it overnight?”

“Whatever. It’s a piece of crap, anyway. If someone steals it, they can have it.”

“Grumpy, are we?”

She glared at him. “I’m freezing. And I’m hungry.”

“Erik keeps snacks in the glove compartment.”

She pulled it open and laughed. “Granola bars! He’s such a good babysitter. Is he the best babysitter you’ve ever had, Sig?”

Sig rolled his eyes. “Just eat the bars, alright?” He turned the heat all the way up, but his car wasn’t so great, either. “You want my jacket?”

“Please?”

He awkwardly pulled it off while keeping his eyes on the road and passed it to her. She tucked it around herself and made a happy sound. 

“If this is for work, you could have called headquarters.”

Alva looked at him intensely. “You annoyed I called you?”

“No, no. I’m glad you called. Just curious...they would have been here sooner than me.”

She nodded. “Haesten’s working tonight.”

“So?”

“So he’s a creep. I climb in a car with him on a dark highway...well, I’d rather not.”

Sig had not considered this, obviously. Haesten was a bit of a jerk, sure. He was aggressive and sly. But Sig had never seen him as a threat. Then again, Sig had a dick.

“I’m not a creep, then?”

“You’re an asshole. Much easier to handle. More predictable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” she said with a laugh. “Thanks for coming. I was worried that with all the rings, maybe you were out, or asleep, or…” _Balls deep in another woman_. “Anyway, I’m glad you came.”

“If you call me, I’ll come get you, ok, Alva? Any time, any place.”

“Thanks, Sig.”

They drove in silence for a while. Alva looked relaxed but, as always, Sig hated the silence. Too much space to think and feel.

“Put some music on.” It sounded a bit like a command, too sharp, but Alva smiled and reached for the dial, turning it until she landed on a country station. A woman’s voice poured out of Sig’s speakers, the only decent thing in his car. She was singing about walking after midnight. Sig was going to object–he didn’t do country–but then Alva started to hum along. He glanced at her, folded under his jacket, leaning against the window with a warm smile on her face, and he let her sing.

That Friday, Erik and Sig went from work to the tattoo parlour to the bar, with a brief stop for food because, according to Erik, “we are not ending up bowling alley wasted.” This was a reference to Erik’s sixteenth birthday: Sig arrived with an empty stomach and two bottles of contraband vodka. He had proceeded to get so drunk so fast that he mistook a bowling pin for another bottle of vodka, vomited all over Erik’s date, and passed out halfway down a lane. They had been permanently banned from the bowling alley and Erik’s date had switched all her classes just to ensure she never had to speak to him again. Which sucked, because she was very funny, and the only reason he signed up for drama. He was stuck for the rest of the semester doing improv exercises with less-funny girls who gossiped about his psychotic trainwreck of an older brother. 

So once Sig was full and Erik was inked, they made their way to Valkyries, where the bouncer owed Sig a favour and would only ban him or call the cops if it was absolutely necessary. 

Many drinks later, Erik and Sigefrid met back at the bar, where Sig was drinking with Haesten. Erik ordered three beers and gave the men a tipsy, happy grin.

“I know that look,” Sig teased. “You met someone.”

“Maybe. We’ll see how it goes.” Haesten and Sigefrid followed Erik’s gaze to the booth in the corner, where a man and a woman were in deep conversation.

“Which one?” Sig asked. Haesten furrowed his brow.

“Not sure. I like them both. I think they both like me? Just kind of feeling it out, see who makes the first move.”

Sig patted him on the back. “Maybe you’ll need both beds tonight, Erik.” 

“What do you mean, ‘you like them both’?” The brothers had kind of forgotten Haesten was there, and his demanding voice cut through their happy moment.

“I am attracted to both people at that table?” Erik explained. Haesten was still staring at him, so Erik slowed it down, taking on a patronizing tone. “See, Haesten, sometimes adults like to touch other adults, and it makes them feel good–”

“You’re saying you like that guy?”

Erik raised his eyebrows at the interruption. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually go in for the preppy look, but he’s got this whole cheekbone thing going on that is hard to ignore.”

“Sig, you hearing this?”

Sig ignored Haesten in favour of paying the bartender. “This rounds on me, brother. Consider it my apology for punching out your last boyfriend. Though I don’t feel particularly sorry about it.”

“His _last boyfriend_?” 

Erik grabbed the three beers and thanked Sig. He turned to leave but Haesten grabbed his arm, almost causing him to spill the beer. 

“What the fuck?”

Haesten didn’t speak but Erik could see the disgust in his eyes. He put the beers back on the bar and cupped Haesten’s cheeks. “Buddy. I’m bi. It’s ok. You’re gonna be ok.”

Haesten squirmed out of Erik’s grip. “That’s fucked up.”

Erik just laughed. “Hey Sig, do you think it bothers him more that I might get laid twice tonight, or that he got the shit kicked out of him by a queer guy?” He picked up the beers again, gave Haesten a wink, and slipped away into the crowd.

“I can’t believe you brought a fucking pussy into the militia,” Haesten actually looked angry. Sig found the entire thing incredibly dull.

“Shut up, Haesten.”

“Do the rest of the guys know? Cause when they find out–”

“Shut up, Haesten! Nobody cares.”

“Maybe you’re just like him, uh? Maybe that’s why Alva won’t even look at you anymore. She knows a cocksucker when she sees one,” Haesten gave Sig a sick grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her for you.”

Sig finished his beer and stood up. “I wish you weren’t so fucking dumb, bud.” He kneed Haesten in the gut, sending Haesten sprawling, then dragged the bearded man to his feet. He gave him a hard shove, knocking over some bar stools in the process. People started to back away, making a circle around them. Haesten managed to regain his balance and punch Sig in the face, but the hit just made Sig laugh. The next few minutes were a blur of action–Sig wouldn’t remember the exact moves, not even when the bruises and aches gave clues to where he had been hit, what he had used as a weapon. All he’d remember was Haesten on the ground and Erik pulling him back, sitting him down and telling him to breathe. The bouncer dragged Haesten out, but sent a stern look Sig’s way. Sig wiped some blood off his face and downed the glass of water Erik kept offering.

“You good?”

Sig swallowed. “No. Yes.”

“Come sit with us, eh?”

Sig looked over to the booth. “Aren’t you worried I’ll scare off your new friends?”

“Nothing about you is remotely frightening, Sig. You’re just a sweet little puppy.” Sig was too addled to recognize Erik’s sarcasm at first. “Come on, if they don’t like you, they can fuck right off. This is our night.”

Sig exhaled and followed him to the table. 

Twenty minutes later, they were laughing as the woman, Sissel, tried to guess what Erik’s new tattoo was. He refused to tell her, and it was still bandaged up. Sig didn’t even know what it was, as he’d been forbidden from going behind the curtain at the tattoo parlour. 

“Is it some kind of animal?” She asked.

“Yes,” Erik admitted.

“Mmmm, a bat?”

“What am I, some kind of goth chick?”

“A mermaid,” Sig guessed. 

“That’s not an animal,” Erik protested.

“And it’s not real,” Sissell added.

“That’s not even how tattoos work,” Sig argued. “They don’t have to be of real things. I have one of a dragon. Are dragons real? No. Do they make kickass tattoos? Yes.”

“Do you solve all your problems with your fists?” 

This strange conversational shift came from Erik’s preppy new friend, Jonis, who was deeply unimpressed by Sig’s fistfight.

“Nah, there are other ways to solve things. My dick, booze, a gun, what else...Erik!” He smiled at his brother. “You throw Erik at a problem, its guaranteed to get fixed. This guy can fix anything.”

“Right,” Jonis drawled. “And what exactly was the problem with that beardy guy?”

Sig and Erik exchanged a look. Sig sighed. “He implied things about my girl. I don’t stand for that.”

“That’s a little possessive,” said Sissel.

“Yeah, well, I’m an asshole.”

“You’re alright,” Erik said. He actually looked grateful, staring over at Sig. He had that shine in his eyes–Sig recognized it from when they were kids, when Erik looked up at him like he was a fucking hero. Jonis scoffed. 

Sissel’s eyes narrowed. “I recognize you from somewhere.”

“Maybe we slept together?” Sig offered with a sly grin.

She frowned. “No. I actually remember everyone I sleep with. You come through my hospital?”

Sig’s gut clenched. She was one of the nurses. He’d probably treated her like shit one day when his mum was too weak to tell him off and he was too sad to control himself. “Yeah. Cancer ward, eh? Probably saw me a lot.”

Her eyes softened. Erik’s fist clenched where it was resting on the table. Sig wanted to grab it, which was weird. They hugged but they weren’t a touchy kind of family. But now he wanted to take some of that tension away from his brother.

“You’re Solveig’s son,” Sissel rested her hand on Sig’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know her well, but everyone at the hospital really loved her. She must have been amazing.”

“Yeah, she was,” Erik said in a husky voice. Sissel turned to him, and her eyes narrowed again.

“I don’t recognize you, though. You weren’t at the hospital.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but it seemed to require an explanation, and Erik didn’t want to give it. Sig pulled his arm away from the woman’s hand. What a crappy nurse she was, laying out everyone’s trauma like this, making them answer for it. If they wanted to bare their souls for some stranger, they’d go to therapy.

“Hey, Erik, wanna smoke?”

Erik nodded and rose, his fists hanging awkwardly at his sides. 

“Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it…” Sissel looked up at them a little desperately. Jonis just focused on his drink. “Stay, alright? We can talk about something else.”

“Don’t bother, Sissel,” Jonis muttered. “He’s just looking for an argument.”

  
“You know,” Sig pulled on his coat. “My brother here is great. Just a really fucking good guy. And you seem like a couple of judgmental assholes. I know it’s not up to me, Erik, but I think we leave these two to their night, eh? Let’s go get drunk and fight like the dirtbags we are.”

“Let’s. Bye.” They shouldered their way out of the bar without looking back.

The rest of the night was perfect. There was loud music and dancing and beautiful women. At the last bar, Sig made Erik stand against the dart board. The entire bar crowded around, cheering loudly each time one of Sig’s darts landed a centimeter off Erik’s body. The last dart didn’t fly so straight, and Erik tipped his head at the last second. The sharp dart hit the wall where his cheek had been. The other patrons went mad with applause. It was an old routine of theirs that never failed to win them free drinks and admiring looks.

Next, Sig climbed onto the bar and hushed the crowd. Everyone looked up at him, drinks in hand, tense with anticipation. He cleared his throat for effect.

“You all know my brother Erik, handsome son of a bitch right here,” he kicked Erik in the shoulder to a chorus of cheers. “Now, earlier tonight, Erik got a tattoo. Of an animal. But he won’t say which animal. Fucker thinks he can keep it a secret. So, a challenge: whoever can guess the animal gets a drink.”

“That’s it?” yelled a woman. “I can buy my own fucking drink.”

“Fine. Not just a drink. The winner gets to take Erik home for the night. Come on, Erik, get up here and show them what a prize you are.” 

Erik laughed and climbed up beside him. There was a round of applause. Then people started yelling animals. 

“Hey, hey, one at a time,” Sig scolded, “raise your hands like good little children so I can call on you.” He proceeded to point to various patrons, letting them shout their guess and then turning dramatically to Erik, who would shake his head. Then Sig felt a tug on his leg. He looked down to see the bartender staring up at them. He prepared to be banned from yet another establishment, but she just smiled.

“A wolf,” she said with utter confidence. Sig looked to Erik. Erik lifted his shirt, tore off the bandage, and pointed. In black ink on his chest was a wolf, wrapped around a full moon. Everyone cheered.

“So, you ready to collect your prize?” Sig was leaning on the bar, grinning at the dark-haired bartender. 

“Well, I drink for free, so it’s not much good to me, is it?”

  
“And what about the other part?”

“Sigefrid,” Erik protested, hiding his face in his hands. “Please don’t pimp me out. It’s embarrassing.

“Erik, I promised this beautiful woman a bedmate. What kind of a man would I be if I broke my word?” He turned back to the bartender with his eyebrows raised. “If you don’t like him, you can have me.”

“What a generous offer. Tonight, I need to go home alone. But next time,” she scribbled her number on a coaster and handed it to Erik. “For you, not for him,” she emphasized, casting a wary glance at Sig.

“How’d you know it was a wolf?”

She tilted her head and eyed Erik. “You have a look about you, like you’re being chased.”

His brow furrowed. “I’m the moon, then?”

She shrugged. “Have a good night, Erik.”

In the end, the brothers went home alone. They stumbled in after three, ate some absurd concoction that resulted in Sig burning his hand, and passed out. It was a good night.


End file.
